Here is the story about the atomic engineers and the uranium power plant [“Blowups Happen”]. I had intended to send it to my friend in Lawrence’s radiation laboratory at Berkeley for a final technical check-over, but decided to send it to you promptly instead. As you pointed out, things are happening fast in this field. The quicker a story laid in it sees print, the better the chance that some assumption in the story will not already have been invalidated.
I presume that this story herewith will give you some idea as to whether or not I can work out another man’s ideas. If you decide that I can, then I would be interested in taking a crack at your idea of scientists going insane over the uncertainty of truth in the “sub-etheric” field. But not just at present, not before fall. It does not seem to me to be a good idea for me to do another story about scientists going crazy too soon — neither for me as a writer trying to build a commercial reputation, nor for the magazine.
Furthermore, it is a big idea; I would want to use not less than fifty thousand words. I have a serial on the stands now; I don’t suppose that you want to publish another serial by me for a year, at least-or have I incorrectly estimated the commercial restrictions.
EDITOR ‘s NOTE: During the summer of 1940, Robert visited John Campbell in the east, the two became fast friends. Letters went back and forth, at great length.
November 2, 1940: Robert A. Heinlein to John W. Campbell, Jr.
…I turned it down, stating that the rate for my own name was higher than that. (I may let them publish “Lost Legacy” under a pseudonym, as it is one that I really want to see published. I am going to give a slight amount of rewriting to make it science fiction rather than fantasy, but still let it say the things I want it to say.)
Having touched on my personal policy to that extent,
I feel obliged to be more specific, since it concerns you, too. I am going up, or out, in this business-never down. I don’t want to write pulp bad enough to slip back into a lower word rate, and a hack attitude. As long as you are editing, at Street and Smith or elsewhere, you can have my stuff, if you want it, at a cent and a quarter a word, or more if you see fit and the business office permits. I won’t use an agent in dealing with you, although I now have one. Neither my name nor the name of Anson Mac-Donald will be made available to any other book at the rate at which you buy from me, and, if I get an offer of a better rate, I will let you know and give you refusal, as it were, before switching. I write for money and will sell elsewhere for a materially higher word rate, but I feel a strong obligation to you. No other editor will get the two names you have advertised and built up at the rates you pay.
I seem to have drifted a long way from stating my own policy and intentions. I will probably go on writing, at least part time, indefinitely. If you someday find it necessary to start rejecting my stuff, I expect to take a crack at some other forms, slick perhaps, and book-form novels, and in particular a nonfiction book on finance and money theory which I have wanted to do for a tong time, also some articles on various economic and social problems. I have an outlet for such things, but it would be largely a labor of love-maybe ten dollars for an article into which has gone a week of research, and slim royalties on books in that field. Howsomever, I might crack the high word rates on general fiction at the same time. One never knows-I never expected to be writing pulp, or fiction of any sort, but it has paid me well…to my surprise!
Addendum to remarks about my own policy: You may possibly feel that my wish to get out of the field of science fiction and into something else smacks of ungratefulness, in view of the way you have treated me. That is the very reason why I am looking forward to another field. I dislike very much to have business relations with a close personal friend. The present condition in which you like and buy everything I write may go on for years. If so-fine! Everybody is happy. But it would be no pleasure to you to have to reject my stuff, and certainly no pleasure to me. And it can happen at any time-your editorial policy may change, or my style or approach may change, or I may simply go stale. When it does occur, I want to cut it off short without giving it a chance to place a strain on our friendship. I don’t want it to reach a point where you would view the reception of one of my manuscripts with a feeling of, “For Christ’s sake, why doesn’t he peddle his tripe somewhere else. He knows I hate to turn him down.” And I don’t want to greet a series of returned manuscripts in my mailbox with a feeling of, “Good God, what does he expect for a cent and a quarter a word? The New Testament?” Nor do I want you taking borderline stories from me simply because you hate to bounce them. I suspected that might be the case with the tesseract story [” — And He Built a Crooked House”].